Abagail could only wonder if this rich king knew he was stealing from the colonists their work, their pay, their food and even their ability to feed their families in an effort to allow him—and aristocrats like him—to live richly.
Yes, she sided with these Patriots. Perhaps she always would.
She was jerked back to the present when Skenan helped her over a spiked fence that was not very tall, but which surrounded the fort. Then he swam with her across the waterway surrounding the fort, he doing most of the swimming while holding one arm around her. And, no sooner had they pulled themselves up out of the water than they were required to crawl over the ground underneath the cannons, hurrying beneath them while they were being reloaded.
It was frightening and impossible to hear anything except the cannons and the muskets. But, at last they stopped and creptup an embankment toward a door, Skenan at this point in their journey taking Abagail’s full weight upon his own.
He knocked on the door, called out a single word she didn’t understand, and the door opened to admit them. They were met by an Indian guard who welcomed Skenan back to the fort. Briefly, Skenan and the Indian spoke to one another until the Indian turned, and, motioning them to follow, led them into a room. Immediately, the door shut behind them. And, as it shut, the sounds of the war outside the door dimmed, though the battle still dominated the air surrounding them.
Abagail had been trying without success to regain her bearings in this loud and unforgiving environment when two men stepped forward—one was wearing a white wig with two short curls on each side of it, and the other did not wear a wig. Instead, his brown hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon.
At once, Abagail decided both men must be of some authority here within the fort, because both wore unrumpled and spotless linen shirts. Indeed, their blue coats with buff-colored trim appeared to be newly pressed. They both wore a buff-colored vest, and those vests were also spotless. The buff-colored breeches they wore hit at the knees, these being in combination with the woolen stockings pulled up to their knees.
The man who was not wearing a wig appeared to be no older than thirty years. Addressing Skenan, he said, “It is good to see you again, Skenandoah. What brings you back to the fort where, as you can see, we are now fully under siege? And, who is this pretty little girl wrapped in your embrace?”
Skenan grinned, though he did not drop his arm from around her. Nor did he make a move to take a step away from her. And, for this, Abagail was grateful, certain she was that she would have fallen.
He replied, “I am happy to see you, my friend Colonel Gansevoort, and you, Lieutenant Colonel Willett. I am arrivedhere from the Saratoga Inn, and I bring with me this woman, whose name is Abagail. She has journeyed all this way to bring you a message locked inside a necklace given to her by Mr. Wilson, whom you both know to be the proprietor of the inn. I have seen the message, although I do not understand it. Yet, I think it might be important, because Mr. Wilson bid us to come to the fort at once. And so, we have come here as quickly as we could.”
“Ah.” The Colonel took a step toward them, and Abagail, grabbing hold of the meager material of her dress in one hand, dipped her head and bent over in what she hoped was a proper curtsy.
The colonel nodded at her and smiled. “You are a quite a pretty young thing, are you not? May I see the message?”
“Of course, Colonel,” mumbled Abagail, feeling color creep up to her cheeks.
And, as she swept her hand into her apron and wrapped her fingers around the necklace, she heard the colonel say, “You may call me Mr. Gansevoort, Miss Abagail. We do not stand on formality here.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Gansevoort,” mumbled Abagail as she handed the colonel the locket. “There is a secret compartment in the locket. This is where you will find the message. If you have trouble opening it, I can help you.”
“Thank you, Miss Abagail, but I think I might manage it.”
Although the colonel fumbled momentarily with the locket, he soon had opened it, had also found the secret chamber, and, without delay, he read the message. Looking up, he gazed first at Abagail, then at Skenan. And, then to them both, he said, “I am in debt, I fear, to you, Miss Abagail and to you, Skenan, for your fortitude and bravery in bringing this message to me.”Turning his back on both her and Skenan, he addressed the more elderly gentleman, though even this manappeared to be not more than forty years in age.“It appears we have lost the battle at Oriskany, the battle having been unknown to us until recently. It appears those men—Patriots all—were ambushed. I fear this means for us that we can expect no reinforcements to come to the aid of this fort.
“And, yet,” the colonel continued, “we must hold the fort, for if we lose our position here, the British will have access to all our lands from the Hudson River to Lake Ontario, and from Lake Ontario to the Atlantic Ocean. We must keep these lands at all costs. But, how can we now win without reinforcement? With little food and water for the hundreds of people who have come here and are now living here, we are at a terrible disadvantage.”
No one uttered a word until Skenan spoke up, saying, “On the path here to the fort, I saw many Mohawk and Seneca Indians, as well as the Onondaga and the Cayuga, and they were helping to lay siege to the fort. There must be thousands of my brothers who are fighting with the English. Why would so many of my people leave their homes to come here and fight when this is the season of the great harvest when so many of these men are needed at home? What will their women do without their help?”
“Perhaps the English persuaded them with gifts,” answered the colonel.
“Perhaps,” agreed Skenan.
The other officer, the one Skenan had address as Lt. Colonel Willett, took a step toward them, and he said, “But, your words and your observations have given me an idea. Yes, it gives me an idea; one I would like to share with the colonel and a very few of our men.”
“Lieutenant Smith,” ordered Lt. Colonel Willett, “see that all the officers meet me in my quarters at once.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant, and saluting, he left at once.
“Come now,” said Colonel Gansevoort. “I will have one of my men show you to your quarters, Miss Abagail. Skenandoah, you are to come with me. I might have more need of your services.”
August 23, 1777
From the large room of the southeast bastion, which was positioned at the very edge of Fort Stanwix, Abagail stared out over the countryside, avoiding looking directly at the trenches the English had dug only a few weeks ago. Those trenches were now abandoned; the English had fled. But the reminder of how closely the Redcoats had come to capturing the fort was still troubling.
Would the English return?
Abagail tried to relax as she set her gaze upon the landscape surrounding the fort. Although the war had parched the countryside directly outside her window, there was still delightful color and beauty in the autumn trees that grew up tall on the hills bordering the river.Even the crisp scent of the autumn leaves was beginning to wash away the awful stench and reminder of the struggle which appeared to be now over...for the present.
Indeed, the fall colors were pleasing. But, yet not.
